


exemplary

by abeaufortinnewyork



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, I'm Sorry, Oops, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeaufortinnewyork/pseuds/abeaufortinnewyork
Summary: He’s an ass. An arrogant, self-aggrandizing ass. And she shouldn’t be noticing how finely the thin cashmere of his sweater clings to his broad shoulders, or the veins rising from the smooth pale skin of his exposed forearms, or the plush set of his lips. But she does, and it sends a curious rush of heat to her abdomen.“It was a good paper,” she bites out, a little weakly.“It was a paper,” he answers, crossing his arms. “But you know I don’t do regrades. Or extra credit. That much I’ve clarified in lecture.” Another tilt of his chin, and then— “So why are you here, Miss Niima?”In truth she’d come in hopes of guilting him into a regrade, or at least a small extra credit assignment. But he’s worked her into such a fervor, subjected her to such burning humiliation, that she’s suddenly itching to turn the tables on him. To claim something for herself. “I think you know,” she says slowly, a little softer now, even daring to step forward.--A shameless Reylo teacher/student AU.





	exemplary

**Author's Note:**

> well hello there everyone! this is a prompt I filled for [@jewishbensolo](http://jewishbensolo.tumblr.com) over on tumblr. it got a little out of hand. so now it is here. enjoy!!!
> 
> (p.s. imagine ages how you want, I guess, but for me this is fresh out of grad school ben and sophomore rey.)

When she enters his office, he’s standing by the bookshelf, a book split open on his wide palm, his fingers setting its pages to a swift, breathy flutter. At the creak of the door he snaps the book shut, looks up sharply. He’s wearing glasses. Almost in spite of herself, Rey notices what pretty frames they make for the crystalline amber of his eyes.

“Miss Niima,” says Professor Solo.

With an indignant flourish, she throws her paper down onto his desk. “Are you kidding me?” she snaps. The prominent letter _C_ , scrawled almost angrily atop the page and circled in bright red, seems to mock her.

“Ah,” he murmurs, trailing his thumb pensively across his lower lip. “The paper.”

“It was a good paper,” she protests, cheeks heating. “I worked hard. I deserve better than a C.”

“It was unoriginal,” he answers bluntly, waving his hand. “Dated, even. Your thesis… this idea of the human heart of the novel and Tolstoy’s theory of history being eternally at odds… it’s been exhausted, and long since refuted, in the literature.” He lifts the first page of the paper, scans the text disinterestedly, drops it again. When he looks up, there’s a challenge in his eyes. “If you’d undertaken even a cursory examination of the current scholarship, you might’ve known that.”

Her eyes narrow. “What?”

“I made it very clear during the library research seminar at the beginning of the semester. You’re in college now, Miss Niima. This isn’t high school. You’re expected to place your work in the scholarly discussion, not shout your tired ideas into the void.”

The offense cuts so deep that she physically recoils, stumbling backward onto her heels, an indignant hand coming up to splay across her sternum. “I-I couldn’t make the seminar,” she sputters, stunned. “I was working. In fact, I’m almost positive I told you that.”

“And I told you you’d need to make it up.” Now he takes off his glasses, polishes them lazily with the hem of his sweater. It looks like cashmere, and Rey hates him all the more for it. “You never got in touch with me,” he continues, still in that arrogant, disinterested tone. 

“I did,” she spits back, angry now. “But all the times you suggested conflicted with my job. And I need that job. I need that money.”

For the briefest, most fleeting of moments, she thinks she sees a flare of tenderness in his eyes. But then he tilts his chin, once again the arrogant son of Ambassador-turned-Senator Leia Organa, and says, “I have many students who work off-campus jobs, Miss Niima. It is your responsibility, not mine, to balance the various demands on your time.”

He’s an ass. An arrogant, self-aggrandizing ass. And she shouldn’t be noticing how finely the thin cashmere of his sweater clings to his broad shoulders, or the veins rising from the smooth pale skin of his exposed forearms, or the plush set of his lips. But she does, and it sends a curious rush of heat to her abdomen. 

“It was a good paper,” she bites out, a little weakly.

“It was a paper,” he answers, crossing his arms. “But you know I don’t do regrades. Or extra credit. That much I’ve clarified in lecture.” Another tilt of his chin, and then— “So why are you here, Miss Niima?”

In truth she’d come in hopes of guilting him into a regrade, or at least a small extra credit assignment. But he’s worked her into such a fervor, subjected her to such burning humiliation, that she’s suddenly itching to turn the tables on him. To claim something for herself. “I think you know,” she says slowly, a little softer now, even daring to step forward.

It works. He blinks, thrown, and skates his eyes down her body. “I—I’m afraid I don’t,” he stutters.

Rey tilts her head. “I’ll give you a hint.” 

She wants to hate herself for how wet she is. The entire crotch of her jeans is dampening fast as she moves closer, closing the distance between them. When she takes his hand, holds it over her crotch and rocks into it ever so slightly, her entire body sings like a live wire.

But for a moment he’s silent, shocked, and she’s afraid. Afraid that she’s made a terrible mistake, afraid that he’ll send her in tears from the office, afraid that she’ll lose everything because of one stupid, lust-clouded misjudgment. 

But then his head lolls forward, his breath playing hotly across her neck. “Fuck,” he whispers. “ _Fuck_ , you’re so wet.”

She thinks about saying _for you_ , decides against it. The last thing he needs is another stroke to his ego. Instead she whispers, biting as much of his imperious _give-me-my-way_ into her tone as she can muster, “Are you gonna do anything about it?”   

All at once his mouth descends to hers, and it’s a crushing, hungry, desperate kiss. Rey sighs, opens her mouth eagerly to his tongue, moans as it meets with hers. His fingers press hard into her crotch, rubbing the seam of her jeans roughly against her clit. 

“Couch,” she commands, hands fisting in his sweater — it is cashmere, after all — and tugging him to the back corner of the office. With a grin and a nip of his lower lip, she shoves him down onto the couch. His darkened eyes go wide, kiss-swollen lips parted in awe. 

He lunges forward, making to grab her hips, but she eludes his grasp deftly. “Patience,” she chides, delighting in the thrill of triumph that courses hotly through her veins. She steps back and lets her hands fall to her hips, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them slowly, deliberately down her legs. On the couch, Professor Solo — Ben, she remembers from the syllabus — wets his lips, unfastens his belt.

By the time her pants lie in a discarded heap across the room, she’s so turned on she can practically smell herself, and her clit is aching when her thumb glances over it through her underwear. 

“Take them off,” he says lowly, unbuttoning his pants. Her breath catches at the sight of his cock, threatens to stop altogether when he starts stroking himself.

“Magic word?” she murmurs.

The word comes out hoarse and strangled. “Please.”

Soon the panties have joined her jeans on the floor, and when she climbs onto the couch, straddling him, she tilts her chin, looking down her nose at his flushed face and wide-blown pupils. 

As she hovers there, suspended above his lap, he drags a finger through her folds, thrusts it inside of her before quickly adding a second. “Fuck,” he repeats, almost reverently. “I’ve never… _fuck_ , Rey.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” she manages between gasps. “Not very — _ah!_ — polite.”

“Well then,” he hisses, his fingers fucking her more urgently now, “you’re absolutely soaking, _Miss Niima_.” 

At this she moans so loudly that he reaches up to clap a hand over her mouth. “Careful,” he hisses lowly. “Hux has office hours just next door.”

Rey just moans into his palm.

When his fingers slide out of her, she whimpers in protest, groping almost blindly for his hand. “I need to be inside you,” he explains, the words clipped and short. And without further ado, his hands clench around her hips, pulling her swiftly down onto him.

At the sensation, which is new and sharp and unbelievably _full_ , her head rolls back, and soon after she feels the hot press of his mouth on her throat, feels him suck a mark into the tender skin there. A spark of indignation lights in her breast — _how dare he_ — and she throws her head forward, claiming control again, setting a furious pace with her hips. 

She decides she loves riding him. The arrogance is bled from his lust-darkened eyes, his once-proud shoulders slumped weakly against the back of the couch. Halfway through she tugs off her sweatshirt, baring her breasts to his touch. There’s something deliciously erotic in her nakedness, in how starkly it contrasts with his still fully-clothed body slumped beneath her. When he leans forward, sucking hotly at her breasts, she braids her fingers into his hair, tugging gently, then harder, until he groans around the dusky pucker of her nipple.   

When she’s close, and feels that he is too, she draws her head back to look him in the eye. “I want a B,” she breathes.

“What?” His eyes are glossed and faraway, like he’s drunk.  

“On the paper,” she clarifies, biting back a moan. “I want a B.”

A short chuckle turns to a groan in his throat when she slows, rolls her hips. “If you let me come inside you,” he gasps, “I’ll give you an A.”

“You’re lucky I’m on something,” she whispers into his ear, grazing her teeth against the lobe, “ _Professor Solo_.”

The reminder of the _wrongness_ of it all is enough to push them both over the edge, and she kisses him when he comes so that they groan into and against each other’s mouths. 

Rey allows for a few moments of sated, post-coital bliss, her naked chest sweating into the soft cashmere of his sweater, before rising and crossing to his desk. There she retrieves her paper, and a red pen from the small basket of writing utensils beneath his computer. 

When she returns to him, she climbs atop his lap again, presenting her naked chest as a sort of desk. “Now then, Professor,” she murmurs, as he bears down against her sternum to scratch out the _C._ “What did you think about my work?”  

He smirks. “Exemplary.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr [@beautyandtheren](beautyandtheren.tumblr.com)!!


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